


Security

by DameRuth



Series: Better With Two [2]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Grumpy TARDIS was fun to write, Pre-Relationship, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:14:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24915211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DameRuth/pseuds/DameRuth
Summary: Set immediately after the end of "Dalek" -- Adam settles in (sort of), Rose and Nine talk, and the TARDIS makes her feelings known.[Continuing the Teaspoon imports, originally posted 2007.04.28.]
Relationships: Ninth Doctor/Rose Tyler
Series: Better With Two [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1764040
Comments: 1
Kudos: 25





	Security

**Author's Note:**

> Having had the TARDIS be friendly to Martha, I couldn't help but wonder what it would be like if the TARDIS _didn't_ like someone . . . hence this excercise, in which Adam gets a more personal experience of alien technology than he'd probably like. There ended up being a lot more Nine/Rose going on than I originally intended, but they insisted on more "screen" time. Characters do that . . .
> 
> * * *

Adam stood rooted to the decking, as he looked up, and up . . . and up.  
  
This wasn’t your average blue box, that was obvious.  
  
Next to him, feminine laughter jolted him out of his shock. Adam turned his head and blinked at Rose, who was grinning at him, her brown eyes sparkling with amusement.  
  
“So, anything like what you expected?” she asked, teasing.  
  
“Hunh?” was all Adam could manage.  
  
“This is our spaceship, silly! Anything like what you thought after looking at all those bits and parts?” She tossed her hair and ran her tongue over her teeth, and Adam struggled to work up anything like a coherent response.  
  
“Oi! The TARDIS isn’t just any old spaceship!” a sharp-edged masculine voice called across the room.  
  
The Doctor was working at what were obviously some controls, but when Adam looked in that direction, the Doctor spared enough attention to meet his eyes. His tone of voice had been bantering, but his eyes were sharp and cold.  
  
“Sorry!” Rose yelled back, with a certain insincerity. She rolled her eyes at Adam. “This here’s our _space and time_ ship.” Then she brightened. “C’mon, let’s find you a room so you can get settled!”  
  
She grabbed his arm and began to drag him further into the ship.  
  
“Wait,” Adam told her, balking. “Don’t we need to take off or something? They’ll be filling the bunker any minute here . . .”  
  
“Already done. We’re safe in the Vortex now,” the Doctor called, in a tone of voice that conveyed how obvious this should have been, and how dim Adam was for not picking up on it.  
  
Adam started to bristle, but one more glance at the Doctor’s face squelched that impulse. Looking at the Doctor was like looking at a granite cliff that might topple over and crush Adam at any second. Better not to go jostling things and tempting fate . . .  
  
He let Rose drag him across the room. Adam could swear he felt the Doctor’s steel-blue gaze follow him the entire way, boring into his back with an almost physical force.  
  
Rose seemed oblivious. She was already chattering on about the places she and the Doctor had been, and places they’d only talked about going, and all of the wonderful things there were in the TARDIS . . .  
  
Adam missed some of her commentary in the shock that followed their entry into the main body of the TARDIS — he’d been expecting something small, cramped, and utilitarian, like a submarine or a human spaceship. But this thing was _huge_.  
  
“Y’ listening?” A hand waved in front of his face — Rose again. “I said there’s usually some free rooms down this way — though if they’re not bein’ used, they switch around sometimes. The Doctor says it has something to do with maximizing efficiency, like defraggin’ a hard drive . . .” and off they went again.  
  
The further in they went, the more Adam’s nerves tautened. He could swear he still felt the Doctor’s eyes on his back . . . was the man — if “man” was the proper term for a self-declared alien — following them? Somehow, that thought was incredibly creepy — the sense that if he turned around, he’d see those cold blue eyes, that set, craggy face . . .  
  
He heard a scuffing noise, like a footstep, just a few feet behind him. It was loud enough to be audible over the low, constant machine hum in the background.  
  
Adam started and swung around . . . and there was nobody there. Nowhere in the corridor where someone could hide, either.  
  
“Blimey, you’re jumpy. You okay?” Rose asked, patting his shoulder. “We’re safe here, y’know. Nothing can get in unless the Doctor lets it in.” She sounded very confident of that.  
  
“I . . . thought I heard something behind me,” Adam told her.  
  
“Huh. Didn’t hear anything.” She shrugged. “Here, let’s check this . . .” She opened the door they’d just reached.  
  
It was a broom closet.  
  
So was the next room. And the one after that.  
  
The fourth door was a linen closet.  
  
Rose huffed out an annoyed breath, running one hand distractedly through her hair. “Sorry, usually there’re some rooms along here . . . I guess we could go see if there’s somethin’ closer to my room . . .”  
  
As she spoke, she opened another door, and lo and behold, it was a bedroom. Small, plain, and, honestly, more than a little barracks-like — but it was a room, with a bed and a chair and a dresser.  
  
“Finally!” Rose said. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say the TARDIS was tryin’ to be difficult . . . You stay here — I’ll go back to that linen closet.” She was gone before Adam could say anything, and he looked around what were apparently his new quarters.  
  
Just out of the corner of his eye, he caught a sudden movement, like something dark skittering along the angle between the wall and the floor . . .  
  
He jumped, but when he turned to look full-on, there was nothing there — nowhere anything (a rat? Something worse?) could hide, either, not without him catching a glimpse of it.  
  
Just behind him, a footstep sounded on the floor, clear and unmistakable.  
  
Adam whirled, and found himself facing an empty room.  
  
The door to the room thumped open, and Adam whirled again, this time with a reflexive squeak forced out of his throat.  
  
“Easy!’ It was just Rose, balancing a pile of sheets, blankets, and pillows. “Guess that Dalek really got to both of us, huh?” She gave him wry little smile, then began directing him as they got the bed made up.  
  
\----  
  
Considerably later, Rose made her way back to the control room. After she’d gotten Adam settled, confirmed the presence of a bathroom in the general vicinity of his new quarters, and shown him to a few key locations, such as the galley (where they’d both gotten a bit of supper), they’d sat in his room and talked. Or rather, Adam had talked. Mostly about himself.  
  
Finally, saying she was tired (and that was no lie — she could feel herself beginning to slow down as the day’s adrenaline high finally began to clear her system), she managed to escape.  
  
As she walked down the corridor towards her own quarters, she absently trailed a forefinger along the wall, and considered. She was starting to get the first glimmer of uneasiness about having invited Adam aboard. Maybe she shouldn’t have been so quick about it . . . but he’d sure talked a good game, back in Utah, about wanting to see the stars and all. She’d thought it would be fun, having someone closer to her own age to talk to, and share things with, someone a little more open and predictable than the Doctor . . . and, yes, someone a little prettier, she had to admit.  
  
But for all his big talk, Adam wasn’t taking any of this particularly well. The TARDIS seemed to freak him out, instead of delighting him the way she’d thought it would. He didn’t seem particularly interested in talking about what they were going to do, or where they could go — he seemed more interested in puffing himself up in her eyes, blowing his own horn and generally acting like any number of blokes she’d met down at the pub on an average Saturday night with Shireen.  
  
Well, he was tired, and out of his element, and _anyone_ would be rattled after that whole Dalek thing. She probably wasn’t seeing him at his best. He’d be doing better after a good night’s sleep, she was sure.  
  
She took a good, hot shower in the bathroom next to her room, and changed into pajamas, but found she wasn’t really tired yet. Or, rather, she was, but she was still a little buzzed. Rather than toss and turn in bed, she decided to go to the galley and fix a cup of cocoa.  
  
On an impulse, she made up two cups, and took them both in the direction of the control room. She’d been so focused on her guest, she’d almost forgotten about the Doctor, and that wasn’t fair. He could probably use a little company; he hadn’t exactly had a jolly day, either.  
  
As she’d expected, she found him tinkering — he did that a lot, especially when he was upset. This time, for a change, he wasn’t working on the console, but had popped one of the rondels out of the wall so he could reach a tangle of wires concealed within.  
  
The Doctor looked up as she padded in, and raised his eyebrows inquiringly.  
  
“I made cocoa. This one’s yours,” she told him, handing over a cup.  
  
He looked surprised, but accepted the cup readily enough. “Thanks.” He sipped, nodded approval, and then set the cup carefully down on the floor next to his toolbox.  
  
When he straightened, he had a questioning look on his face. He fixed her eyes with his, and cocked his head to one side. “You all right?” he asked. The words were blunt, but the tone was gentle enough.  
  
“Yeah, I think so. Are _you_?” she shot back, meaning it.  
  
He blinked. She got the impression he wasn’t used to people asking after his state of mind. “Yeah. I’ll be fine,” he responded, after a moment — which wasn’t a direct answer, Rose noted, but probably the best she’d get from him.  
  
“Good,” she told him and smiled. She padded over to the jump seat and settled into it, wrapping her hands around the welcome heat of her cocoa.  
  
The Doctor looked at her, questioning.  
  
“Keep at it,” she told him with a wave of her hand. “I just want to sit and enjoy my cocoa . . . and I didn’t wanna to be alone just yet,” she admitted.  
  
He nodded, accepting that, and went back to work, stopping now and then for a sip of cocoa.  
  
Rose watched him work, and found herself relaxing from tension she hadn’t even realized was there inside her. The Doctor seemed to have two modes — chatterbox, and stone-silence. The latter could be disconcerting — well, so could the former, depending on what he was chattering about — but more often than not, Rose actually found it . . . soothing. When he was peaceful and focused on some task or other, the Doctor projected a very stable, solid presence. Rooted, almost . . .  
  
In fact, he did remind her of a tree, Rose realized. Like her favorite tree in the park back home, the big, spreading plane tree where she’d go and sit when she was feeling sad, or lonely, or out of sorts. She’d done that since she was a little girl, and the last time she’d done it was just after she’d broken up with Jimmy Stone. There was just something about sitting there with her back against the patchy, multicolored bark, in the comforting presence of something old and calm and still. The spreading branches arching high above her made her feel sheltered, protected . . . safe.  
  
That was how the Doctor made her feel.  
  
She sipped her cocoa to cover a smile, even though he wasn’t looking at her. Oh, he’d love that, being told he reminded her of a tree . . . ! Or . . . well, maybe he _would_ take it as a compliment. This was the Doctor, after all, and he popped out with enough odd comments and comparisons of his own all the time.  
  
“So, how’s pretty-boy settlin' in?” the Doctor asked, breaking the silence as if continuing a conversation that had been running all along. He didn’t look up from the wires he was working on, but Rose could feel him waiting for her answer.  
  
“All right,” she said. “Well, mostly. He’s a little . . . jumpy. I think the Dalek got to him more than he’s sayin'. He’ll be better after a rest.”  
  
“You think?” the Doctor asked, and she could hear the dry undercurrent clearly.  
  
“Yeah, I think!” she responded, annoyed. “It’s not like he’s had the best welcome, with you glarin' at him . . .”  
  
“I wasn’t glaring.”  
  
“Yes, you were. And it took forever to find him a room. It was almost like the TARDIS was tryin' to avoid giving him one.”  
  
From her angle, Rose couldn’t see the slight smirk that crossed the Doctor’s lips.  
  
“Really,” he said, amused.  
  
“Yeah, I thought I was gonna have to put him in _my_ room for a while . . .”  
  
Rose was well into the airing of her grievances now, so she didn’t notice the Doctor fumble the wire he was working on.  
  
“ . . . and then I’d be stuck on the sofa in the Library. Assuming I could _find_ the Library. Otherwise it would’ve been the jump seat, and I always get a stiff neck when I sleep here.” Rose glowered at the ceiling, knowing the TARDIS could hear her.  
  
The Doctor puffed out a relieved breath, and fished around for the dropped wire.  
  
Rose sighed, relaxing again. “I’m tired, too,” she admitted. “I guess I’m all out of sorts right now.”  
  
The Doctor twisted together the wires he was holding, and replaced the rondel in the wall. He snagged his cocoa, and strode over to join Rose on the jump seat.  
  
“Well, runnin' for your life does that to people, you know — puts them out of sorts,” he told her.  
  
“You would know,” she said, teasing.  
  
He snorted, and sipped his cocoa. “Better’n some,” he admitted, surprising Rose. His tone of voice was amused, rather than annoyed, she was glad to hear. Then he sighed and looked down at his cocoa, rolling his cup between the palms of his hands.  
  
“It’s dangerous, this life,” he said then, suddenly serious. “There’s no way ‘round that. Today . . . was close. I thought I’d lost you.”  
  
“Yeah, well, you can’t get rid of me that easily,” Rose joked, even as she shivered a little, remembering that closed door, and the certainty she’d come to the end of her short life . . .  
  
“If you wanted to go home, I’d take you,” the Doctor continued, as if he hadn’t heard her. “Anytime, just say so.”  
  
He looked up at her, tense — watching her intently, awaiting her decision . . . the exact opposite of Adam, she realized, who had watched her reactions, but not _her_ , ever.  
  
“You’ll be the first to know,” she told him, “when that’s what I want.” She smiled, and he relaxed fractionally, as if some weight had eased from him. He continued looking at her, though, and she found herself studying his face.  
  
He wasn’t unhandsome, she decided. That brutally short haircut didn’t help at all, since it accentuated his strong features too sharply. Unflattering. His ears didn’t really stick out _that_ much, and the planes of his face weren’t harsh so much as very strongly masculine — softened by surprisingly long eyelashes, and full, even sensuous, lips . . .  
  
With a burst of horrified shock, she realized she was a hairsbreadth away from leaning over and kissing him.  
  
He must have seen something in her face, because his expression shifted slightly . . . and then he raised his eyebrows quizzically at her. “What?” he asked.  
  
Rose’s brain was flailing, trying to figure out where that bizarre impulse had come from . . . and why she had the strangest feeling it had been _mutual_ . . .  
  
Acting on its own, her mouth opened and popped out the first semi-safe reply that crossed her mind.  
  
“You remind me of a tree,” she told him.  
  
His expression in response to that was priceless, as he attempted to absorb it -- and then he burst into laughter.  
  
“A tree? What, am I sprouting foliage?” He ran a hand over his close-cropped skull by way of demonstrating his leaf-free condition.  
  
Rose flushed — mostly in response to his teasing, but partly because she’d just had a vivid flash of what it would feel like to run _her_ hand over his scalp, and the silky-prickly texture she’d find there . . .  
  
Tired and flustered, she answered honestly. “You feel like a tree — old and strong and stable. Friendly. Like shelter.” Her mouth snapped shut as she realized what she’d said, and she blushed in earnest.  
  
He blinked at her. Then he broke into a smile that was very different from his usual maniacal grin. It was almost . . . shy.  
  
“Really?” he asked.  
  
She gave him an embarrassed smile back, and rubbed her face tiredly. “Yeah, really.” She was saved from having to say anything else by a huge, gaping yawn that snuck up on her out of nowhere.  
  
“S’cuse me. I think I’m finally crashing, here.” _Bugger. I just told him he reminded me of a_ tree _. . . and I wanted to kiss him. What’s wrong with me . . .?_  
  
“You need some rest,” he told her authoritatively, if redundantly. He stood . . . and then, to Rose’s complete and total shock, scooped her up off of the jump seat, cradling her as if she were a sleepy child.  
  
She grabbed at his jacket in surprise, but he held her securely, and strode off easily in the direction of her room, as if she weighed no more than a toddler.  
  
_I had no idea he was so strong . . .!_ she thought, startled. It felt very odd to be carried like this, at her age. But it was comforting, too, and she found herself relaxing in his arms.  
  
Without speaking, he laid her down on her bed, and pulled the covers over her. “There,” he told her. “You sleep. You’re safe, here.” He smiled reassuringly, and Rose understood, without being able to articulate it, that he was atoning somehow for earlier -- when he hadn’t been able to keep her safe, much as he’d wanted to.  
  
“I know,” she told him, and smiled back, snuggling down under the comforter, offering what reassurance she could give.  
  
He turned to go, but paused. “Y’ know,” he told her over his shoulder, with a hint of a chuckle. “No one’s ever compared me to a tree. Not in nine hundred years.”  
  
Rose, already starting to drift off, mumbled, “That’s ‘cos I’m special.”  
  
“Yeah, you are. Good night, Rose.”  
  
“G’night,” she said, and dropped off into an exhausted sleep. Her dreams were strange, but comforting, filled with the hint of soft, alien music, and a sense of complete security she hadn’t known since childhood.  
  
\---  
  
The Doctor walked down the hallway, heading back towards the control room, where cocoa cups and tools awaited cleanup, absently trailing his fingertips along the wall as he went. With nobody but the TARDIS to see, he allowed himself a big, happy, stupid grin. He never would have thought he’d be so pleased to be compared to a sessile photosynthetic lifeform.  
  
\---  
  
Adam sat with his back to the headboard of his bed, blankets pulled up, listening to the small, stealthy almost-noises in the corners of his room. Every time he was about to drop off to sleep, some subliminal sense or sound would jerk him awake again.  
  
This ship was one _seriously_ freaky place. He wondered if he’d been right to let Rose drag him along.  
  
Then again, he had access to some really impressive technology here — it might very well be worth his while to see what he could learn. Van Statten had made a fortune off of patenting alien technologies — no reason _he_ couldn’t get a piece of the same pie . . .  
  
A particularly loud not-sound made him flinch. He wondered if he should go and look for Rose — these weird little manifestations seemed to quiet down in her presence. Not to mention some female company would be nice about now. He wondered if the terrifying Doctor had gone to bed yet.  
  
Carefully, unconsciously trying not to make any noise, Adam tossed back the blankets and slipped a foot onto the floor.  
  
Just as his heel made contact, _something_ moved outside his door.  
  
Adam froze.  
  
There was a huff of breath, as if from some very _large_ creature, and a scrape as if of . . . claws on the hallway decking.  
  
Very carefully, Adam raised his foot off the floor, and slipped it back under the blankets.  
  
The claws scraped once more in the hallway, then the sense of something standing just outside the door faded, to be replaced by smaller corner-scurryings which now sounded positively friendly in comparison.  
  
Maybe going to find Rose wasn’t such a good idea after all.  
  
He had a feeling he was going to be in for a long night.  
  


* * *

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.  
  
This story archived at <http://www.whofic.com/viewstory.php?sid=11934>


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